This morning while scanning Chani Nicholas’s New Moon in Aries post, I came across the following in my horoscope:
Over the past 7 years my partners have been my greatest sources of awakening. Some of the learning I did with others was through incredible turbulence. But that’s what happens when you break new ground. I look back on this time with indestructible gratitude for all it taught me. I now know that working through fear is revolutionary.
I don’t think too much about the effects of the slower-moving planets (Uranus, Neptune, Pluto) in my chart. It usually takes a few years before I see the connections. For instance, I didn’t realize until last year that I started “Skinny Black Girl” when Pluto, the planet connected with death, rebirth, and power, entered my fifth house of creativity, hobbies, and pleasure.
For the last seven years, Uranus (individuality, questioning authority) has been hanging out in my eighth house (intimacy). Let’s see where I was in 2011 around issues of individuality and intimacy, shall we?
In the end, I was seduced by solitude. Suddenly, I was Samantha Jones, telling her attentive, adoring tenderoni that for reasons she couldn’t explain, she didn’t want to do the relationship thing anymore.
“I just hope you can figure yourself out,” he said.
Since I’d insisted that he was indeed amazing, I was the flawed one.
In reality, I’ve simply become the woman I blog-ranted about. The one who could choose singleness, instead of embracing it by circumstance. The wild-haired, free-thinking, writer auntie with her bag of crazy ideas that women should be able to do and be whatever the fuck we want.
– Louis, Robyn. “Seduced by Solitude,” Songs About Boys. 2016. 
Strong desire for individuality? Check. Questioning societal norms and authorities in “partnering”? Um, check. Ranting like a madwoman to anyone who will listen that “YES, I REALLY AM HAPPIER SINGLE AND CHILDLESS SO STOP TELLING ME SOME MAN WILL CHANGE MY MIND”? *Looks around awkwardly before raising my hand* Check.
At the beginning of Uranus in Aries, I was searching. “What kind of relationship can best accommodate the person I want to be?” I wanted affirmation that I could be whole unto myself and be loved. I wanted someone who would “let me be me.” I tried on different types of partnership: long-distance relationships, friends-with benefits situations (heavy on the “friendship” and “benefits”), teasing unavailable but willing admirers for the thrill of flirtation. To quote Chani, I learned though incredible turbulence, for sure. But living and examining those experiences shaped my life and writing for the better.
In my search for affirmation, I connected with like-minded women. It’s no coincidence my online bonds that turned into lifelong friendships started when Uranus entered Aries. Sharing my questions and frustrations led me to a tribe of “women who get it.” As one of these women so eloquently wrote:
Women who don’t fit small hands or small plans. Who burn, incandescent with desire. Magic women. Warrior women. Women ill shaped to live in the residences of archaic ideas and grayscale archetypes. Women who are vermilion and canary and titian and cobalt. Who say the scary things and slay the dragons. Whom people find too hot, too cold, too loud, too brash, too too.
– La. “Difficult Women,” Liquor Loans and Love. 2017.
They’ve shown up in moments of shame around feelings I didn’t know I had to remind me feeling was okay. They’ve cheered my raunchiest exploits and checked my impulse to rationalize my emotions rather than honor them. Armed with judgement-free zones full of drinks, laughs, curse words, and biting wit, they are my tribe and my champions.
The key takeaway from Uranus in my eighth house has been finding a partner in myself. Exploring and becoming more comfortable in my dark corners. Feeling my feelings instead of thinking them away. Demanding the space required to develop and maintain a rich inner life. As I move into the next cycle, I no longer search for accommodation or affirmation for my choices. I am the living, breathing version of the self I always to be. Self-possessed, discriminating, and at peace. I don’t care if there is a someone who will “let me be me” because I’m no longer asking permission.
I’m at my best when in a deeply intimate relationship with myself. And I’m intolerant of anything that hinders it. Sounds pretty Uranus in Aries to me.
 I cited myself, MLA-style. Like a fucking boss who has written a book.